Tell a story of a time when the DM took away something that was important to your character, I'll start. During one campaign me and my party were helping a rebellion fight against a evil devil-worshiping colonizing force. Things didn't turn out well and we ended up captured by them and all of our gear was taken away. This included the arcane focus our sorcerer used, our dueling sword focused sword-lords dueling swords, and even somehow our bards summon-able instrument. Unfortunately the campaign ended after that session but most of us were in some pretty dire straights.

He had a noble take my sword. Sure, i had a better and magical one as a backup, but that wasn't one he had made himself after remembering the secret teachings of his father.

So i did what any law abiding citizen would have done, took his mansion as collateral until he returned it, rented out his bedroom as a chicken coop for free to a local farmer, made him persona non grata in the country, and mad enough of a political stink to cascade his country and the one we where (previously allied countries) in into a war.

Oh, and during our escape from his prison i pooped in a bucket (to increase projectile mass) and used it as an improvised projectile weapon. turns out, My char was about as good at killing people with a bucket of poop as most of his noble guards where at using their weapons...

Not the DM but another player stole our wizard's spellbook. They snuck in when he was sleeping and nicked it.

The guy had 15 passive perception, but due to stacked penalties of sleeping, a silence ritual and a lullaby ritual, his passive perception was -7. The guy could still fail on a natural 1 on his stealth checks, but it didn't happen.

One of our party members had a pet mouse (might have been a familiar, wasn't too clear on hat, but she was a rogue, so eh). All along the way she makes checks for the mouse, asks how he's affected by what's going on, it's a nice little character thing and is fun to listen to.

Throughout the game our DM explicitly says multiple times that he is saving the mouse dying for some dramatic, important moment. We finally get to the island we're going to (someone on the island is buying slaves and having them delivered drained of blood and with the blood in big metal drums so we figure, hey, vampire island) so she decides to leave the mouse on our ship to keep him safe. We trek through the island, fight hordes of undead and reach the center, interrupting some ritual involving around 300 zombies and a literal lake of blood.

The ritual finishes, and this huge avatar of a god of death erupts out of the blood lake, we're frozen in fear, and some paladins who are sworn to fight it swoop in. A few rounds pass, most of the paladins are killed, and the ones who are left come to us and teleport us out to safety in their base/monastery. We recover, talk to the monks learn what the thing is, etc.

We eventually realize, hey, we're probably never going to see that ship again. And the mouse is still on it.

I geared my battle-cleric as I do most of my characters, exhaustively poring over the list of mundane equipment and taking everything that looked even remotely useful, then fluffing where it all came from. Most of his stuff was either issued to him with his mission as a messenger to the human lands or purchased/made/found along the way, but his cast-iron stewpot was an heirloom from his late grandmother.
The first quest involved sneaking over the mountains across a xenophobic human-supremacist isolationist nation's borders to get to our employer. A friendly NPC offered to hold items and pets in safekeeping for us, but I foolishly declined - after all, everything I had was something I might need, and anyway, we were sneaking across rugged, snowy wastes, so cookware, provisions, and mountaineering equipment were well worth the weight; it wasn't as though I'd need to move fast.
Of course, border patrol's rangers caught us, and one hid in the bushes sniping us, escaping to raise the the alarm when we made mincemeat of his buddies... So I had to leave my beloved stewpot, several hundred pounds of rope, and more behind to get back down to a light load so we could get a head start on the human outriders. On the plus side, I scattered my bags of caltrops all around the snowy clearing to hinder their trackers and on the road we fled to, slowing or crippling their outriders' pursuit, plus tagging a nearby tree with a Magic Mark so I could find my pot later, given half a chance, but sadly the campaign died in short order.

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